


Been an awful good boy

by ifonenight



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Christmas, Comic Clint, D/s, Deaf Clint Barton, Dom!Steve, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food Play, Food Porn, Lingerie, M/M, Makeup, Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Panty Kink, Rough Sex, Scratching, Steve in lingerie, Stucky/Thorky Secret Santa 2016, Sub!Bucky, Typical Christmas Food, this is mostly fluff i'm so sorry, well Bucky is not the Solider anymore but he's big and beefy and has a metal arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifonenight/pseuds/ifonenight
Summary: The lights of the Christmas trees shine softly on them, bodies tangled together and fingers intertwined."Didn't Sara tell you not to play with your food, Rogers?""Do not mention my mother while our dicks are touching, you ass."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarvelouslyMadMM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelouslyMadMM/gifts).



> This is a story written for the StuckyThorki Secret Santa 2016. Merry Christmas Marvelouslymadmm! I tried my best to satisfy your wishes, not least because they largely matched mine, but I'm afraid this is way too fluff. 
> 
> A big thank you, as always, to [lotor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lotor/profile) for beting this and being my anchor, and to [CoCoKrispies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoCoKrispies/profile) for suffering through my rambles and helping me out. 
> 
> Just a couple of things I didn't manage to explain in the fic: Steve's serum has worn off, and he's now small again, albeit wiser than before. Bucky and Steve had already been together for years when this happened, and it was a gradual process who left Steve healthier than he had been before the serum. Steve doesn't mind at all his not-really-new condition.

The bells tingle at the door of the café and Bucky waves at a shivering Clint, who looks approximately like Bucky did when he was first defrosted, but Clint can at least recognize them and reach the table on his own.

“I’ve been living here for a fucking long time, and you know how many times it’s snowed in December?” he exclaims, voice a little loud, a little slurred, and he slumps in his seat next to Nat. She rolls her eyes and signals at the waiter for another cup of coffee.

“Twice!” Clint continues, leaning on Nat for warmth. She pushes him away but offers him her leather jacket, and he uses it as a blanket, curling up beneath it as much as he can. “And I always hated it. Why the hell it has to snow before time? Isn't two months at the beginning of the year enough? I think yes.”

Bucky snorts at his betrayed expression, nudging his foot with his own under the table to catch his attention. “Come on, you big baby, it’s, like, the _perfect_ weather for Christmas.”

Nat makes a disgusted sound at that and Bucky grins at her, but before he can say anything, the waitress brings Clint his warm coffee, and Clint almost cries when he closes his icy fingers around the cup and that’s always too funny to miss.

“So, why were you late this time?” Bucky asks when Clint has inhaled his first dose of caffeine and looks a little more human. Clint has always something coming up - enemies, explosions, the neighbour’s cat assaulting his dog. His life looks so much like a rollercoaster that Bucky never ceases to be impressed. Being his friend has all kinds of benefits when he’s feeling up for an adventure.   

“I had a little incident, nothing serious,” Clint answers casually, thanking the waitress profusely when she refills his cup.

Nat places one hand on his arm and Clint turns to look at her. “Did you break you hearing ads again?” she asks, amused, and Clint gives immediately up his act, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.  

“You know I really can’t stand them,” he answers, sipping his coffee slower now, putting his face right over the fumes. “I know Stark has good intentions, but I don't really need them, and they're so _annoying_. Did you know it takes months, even years, for them to sync up with your ears?”

Clint has been not-so-accidently breaking his ads since Tony gifted him the first pair, but Tony hasn’t seemed to get the hints, yet. They’re all high-tech, extremely innovative tools, and it’s not strange that Tony hasn’t even contemplated that they could have been unwelcomed - both because he’s Tony and because he has never needed them once in his life - so, apparently, Clint’s plan is to keep destroying them during his absurd escapades and then file the loss as a casualty.

“Why don’t you just tell him to stop?” Bucky asks when Clint stops making out with his cup and focuses on them again. “I did when he was trying to mess with my arm.”

Clint shrugs. “He’s trying to be nice. I find it cute.”

“Speaking of Tony,” Nat interrupts, turning towards Clint so he can see her lips, “are you guys thinking of attending his Christmas party? I heard the theme is Naughty Santa this time.”

“Not this year,” Bucky says, and smiles a little in his own cup of cocoa. “Steve has plans for us.”

  
*  
**  
* *  
* * *

_Bucky leans against the door, watching Steve move around the kitchen. Steve has flour in his hair, on his nose, from his hands to his elbows, deft fingers grimy from dough, but he looks unconcerned, passing from bowl to bowl to oven without pause._

_“Want help?” Bucky asks, but Steve shakes his head without looking up, pouring some mixture in a little cupcakes pan._

_He’s totally absorbed, and Bucky moves closer, reaching for one on the bowls, but Steve slaps his hand with a dirty spatula before he can get to the batter._

_Bucky grins as he sucks the dough from his skin, Steve rolling his eyes at him the whole time, a little secret smile hiding on his lips._

_“Who is all of this for, anyway?” Bucky asks, sitting in one of the table chair and resting his naked feet on another._

_“Some is for the Pride Centre and the Vet Centre,” Steve answers, briefly opening the oven to check inside. Apparently satisfied, he leaves the counter and strides toward Bucky._

_He had lost some of that energy, when he was bigger, that sense of purpose. He_ walked _, even aimlessly at times; he made idle chats; his quiet smiles were less of a rarity. But now that he is small again, the serum all but evaporated, and he's slim and angular and weaker - but not fragile, never fragile - Steve has retrieved some of that self-confidence he had lost when he had to keep his physical strength under control, always bottled up._

 _Bucky loves it. Bucky loves_ him _, so much. His best boy._

_Steve straddles him, leaning down to kiss his lips and pass his messy hands in Bucky’s hair, tugging at the rubber band that ties it together until it gives in and Bucky’s locks fall on his shoulders, now tainted with white where the flour has stuck._

_Bucky shivers at the sting the band causes when it pulls on his hair._

_“And the rest?” he murmurs against Steve’s neck, warm and a little sweaty._

_He can feel Seve’s smirks on his skin._

_“The rest is for you.”_

  
  
*  
**  
* *  
* * *

Bucky is waiting in their living room, his red collar on, kneeling beside the sofa. Little spots of color dance on his metal arm, reflecting the lights from the Christmas tree.

Steve is making him wait. It’s all part of the scene, of course, the anticipation, the longing, the subtle hints. Bucky can smell a warm, delicious scent coming from the kitchen, full of promises, and it almost makes him squirm.

Seconds ticks on the clock, a bird gives a sharp cry outside, the lights buzz quietly, and Bucky has to focus on his breath, deep and steady, lowering himself inside his own mind, in that silent, peaceful place Steve always leads him in. Just before tearing it apart.

He shuts everything out, and goes down, deeper, deeper. He can hear his breath in his chest and nothing else, repetitive, rumbling, soothing.

They have this system, of consequences and rewards, that they both like so much. It helps Bucky to have clear instructions to follow, knowing that depending on how well he obeys, he'll get a prize or he'll get punished. It's easy and it's fun and Bucky has been deprived of fun for so long.

They started to scene long after Bucky had retrieved a stable sense of self, because Steve had wanted to be one hundred percent sure that Bucky would have safeworded if he had needed it.

Despite that, Bucky had been rigid the first few months, doing everything impeccably  and never disregarding an order. Steve had always praised him, always so pleased, never voicing that Bucky didn't _need_ to be so perfect, but always leaving him room to make mistakes.

It had been such a relief to finally let go and mess up, and how sweet the sting on his ass had been after. Steve had been so proud.

He almost misses the soft clacking on the floor, coming towards him. When he notices, there’s already an hand in his hair, a fist that tugs on it and coax his gaze upward.

His breath, so carefully controlled, catches in his throat.

Steve is standing in front of him, watching down, but all Bucky can see are the thin lines of his body covered in lace, whites and reds chasing each other along his bones. White panties lays low on his hips, stockings hug snugly his tights, and deep red heels hide his feet, and - oh, his _face_. Steve's blue eyes are sharp under all the mascara, his lips a delicious cherry red, his cheeks a delicate pink.

Bucky drinks him in like a man who is alone in a desert, and only knows the oasis is not a mirage because the water tastes too sweet to be a dream.

“Like what you see, Buck?” Steve murmurs, and Bucky forgets himself.

“I love you,” he blurts out, only to groan when Steve gives an hard tug on his hair, his head falling back.

“I love you too,” Steve answers, bowing down to whispers in Bucky’s ear. “But don't talk.”

Bucky lets out a breathless laugh, and nods, feeling the pull in his scalp.

“Good,” Steve says, and releases his hair, sliding his hand on his shoulder. He circles him, keeping his touch light, and Bucky shivers under those fingers.

“Go on the sofa,” Steve orders him, and Bucky gets up slowly - despite the serum, he's getting older, and all the aches and little traumas of his fights are showing up. Maybe he's losing the serum too, who knows. He would be fine with it, being with Steve like they were in their own times, a few lifetimes ago. His muscles are keeping up, for now, but there is a softer area around his belly that Steve absolutely loves to nip at.

He sits on the sofa the way Steve tells him to, and Steve kisses him as a reward, long and hard, biting his lips and sucking a bruise on his jaw.

“Wait here,” he murmurs, “don't move,” and Bucky obeys, watching him go, looking at how the heels make his hips sway, his ass almost visible under the panties. Exquisite.

Steve disappears in the kitchen and reappears a few minutes later with a tray, covered by a small sheet. He lowers it on a cushion next to where Bucky is seated, and Bucky glances at it, curious, but then Steve is climbing on him, and it's really hard to stay still when Steve is so close, so beautiful, hovering over Bucky’s legs without quite touching.

Steve kisses him again, languid this time, brushing against his cock in lazy waves, so little friction that Bucky thinks he could go crazy. He loses himself in the motions, in Steve's lips, the taste of his lipstick, the tongue in his mouth, Steve’s cold hands on his shoulders, his lovely cock against his own.

“Let's play a game,” Steve says suddenly, and Bucky’s focus shifts against, from his lower body to Steve's mouth, so, so red. “I've cooked something for you.” Steve points to the tray - which Bucky has almost forgot about - but Bucky can't bring himself to follow his gaze and take his eyes off him. Steve doesn't seem to mind.

“I’ll make you taste all of it, but” and Bucky breathes in, slowly, because Steve's buts are usually the best and the worst thing that could happen to him, “you'll be blindfolded. You’ll have to guess what each bite is, and if you do,” Steve thrusts against him, and Bucky groans, “you’ll get to fuck me however you like tonight. But if you don’t,” Steve bends down, his breath hot against Bucky’s chest, and bites down, hard, on Bucky’s nipple. Bucky buckles against him, but Steve clamps his tights against Bucky’s legs, keeping him down. “If you don’t, I’ll get you ass to match the red on our flag.”

There’s a second where everything stays still, suspended in time and space, and then they both burst out laughing in each other’s faces. Bucky joists against Steve, and they both gasps between their laughs.

“Stevie, what the hell?” Bucky asks, pressing their foreheads together, a grin splitting his mouth.

Steve coughs a little and take a deep breath, chuckles fading off slowly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling against Bucky’s nose.

Bucky kisses him, both their mouths still curved up.

“Alright,” he says when they break off, rubbing circles on Steve’s hips, trying to get back to the right headspace. “Hit me.”

He gets an hard slap on his thigh for his troubles, and a mischievous smirk from Steve, before Steve extends his right leg - Bucky’s hands tighten on his hips, because Steve is moving _a lot -_ and starts to roll down his stocking.

Bucky stares, watching his long fingers move on the silk, and it's weirdly hot.

When Steve takes it off completely, he holds it before Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky blinks a couple of times before snorting in disbelief.

“You can't be serious.”

“But I am,” Steve says, and Bucky’s eyes are suddenly covered, and he feels Steve's hand in his hair, fastening the stocking around his head.

It feels… silky, smooth, sensual. It's soft on his skin, and Bucky actually _blushes_.

Steve's legs aren't particularly arousing - except for the fact that everything about Steve is, of course - but knowing that he has just worn it only a few moments before… It does something to him.

“You see anything?” Steve’s voice sounds so much more intense when Bucky can't look at him.

“No,” he answers honestly, and Steve gives him a peck on the cheek.

He hears some rustling, feels Steve shifting on his cock, and then suddenly there is something a little wet pressed against his lips.

They've played with food before. When Steve found out that Bucky hadn't been really allowed to choose his own food - always calibrated meals for the Soldier, tasteless, proteic plates, occasionally no food if he had been disciplined and wasn't needed on the field - he made his personal mission to make him try all the receipts he could want and like. Just another step into recovery, he said, and a funny one.

Bucky did not immediately take to the plan, wary and confused by so many tastes, by so many _choices_ , but their plays have been of real help. They've both come to enjoy them a lot.

“Open up, Buck” Steve says, and Bucky does, and something slightly sour and salty lands on his tongue.

“Taste it,” Steve orders quietly. “Slowly. _Savor_ it. Roll it in your mouth. Suck its sauce. Don't rush.”

Bucky shivers at that, the smooth timbre of Steve's voice conjuring a totally different image, and that's probably what Steve wants, isn't it.

He chews slowly, even though the answer has been pretty obvious since the bite touched his buds. But he goes unhurried, relishing it, enjoying the not-quite-sweet flavor, and swallows every pieces carefully. Once it's done, he grins into the darkness.

“This one was pretty easy, Stevie,” he says, and feels a sudden, sharp twist on his nipples. He groans but answers dutifully when Steve asks what the bite was.

“Turkey and cranberry sauce.”

“Correct,” Steve says, and his lips sucks another bruise on Bucky's neck, to Bucky's low moans. “One out of four.”

Steve moves away again, and after more clacking, something solid appear against Bucky's teeth. Steve rubs it on his lips, and Bucky chases his fingers with his tongue.

Steve finally relents and pushes it into his mouth, and this is time the flavor is richer, earthy, spicy. It tastes a little irony, and Bucky has no clue what it is supposed to be.

“Uhm,” he says, “is it, like, blood?”

Steve stays silent, which could mean that Bucky's right but also that he's totally wrong. He doesn't think that Steve's has really fed him _blood_ , but it's definitely meat.

“Uhm,” he tries, “meat?”

“Not good enough, Buck.”

Bucky focuses on the aftertaste, but he has never had anything like this, or if he had, he doesn't remember. It gives in easily under his teeth, but it's dense, and quite tasty.

Maybe it's not meat, something like beans..

“Black jelly beans?” he says, uncertain, and Steve is on him on a second, biting down on his shoulder, pinching his nipples, dragging his fingers against his chest and belly, and Bucky groans and moans through it, staying still and overwhelmed by sensations.

Many inputs at the same time are still hard to process, maybe will always be. But if it's Steve that is overwhelming him, Bucky can fly high and fall right back into his open arms, knowing that he'll always be there to catch him and break his fall.

“Incorrect,” Steve says after awhile of that sweet torture, and Bucky momentarily struggles to come back to full attention.

“Careful, Buck. You must guess the other two, now, or else.”

Bucky nods, and Steve already has the new bite ready in front of him.

This time is sweet, a clear flavor of cinnamon and cream, and Bucky licks the crumbs off Steve’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth. Steve’s sharp intakes of breath is a reward in itself.

“What is it?”

“Pumpkin pie,” Bucky answers, and Steve confirms with a long, hard thrust against him. Bucky lets his head falls back on the backrest, fighting the urge to meet him up.

The blindfold is cool against his heated skin, Steve’s lingerie smooth against his legs.

“Sit up more, Bucky, this one is a drink… Here, don't spill anything.”

Steve presses something cold and hard against Bucky's lips - a glass - and lets a spicy liquid slide on his tongue and down his throat.

Bucky drinks it all, and it's hot and aromatic and smells like cold days spent warming up in front of a fireplace.

“Mulled wine,” he says, unprompted, and Steve’s quiet laugh is music to his ears.

“You've made it,” Steve says, affection evident in his tone, “good boy,” and Bucky’s smile must be big enough to fill the whole room.

Steve’s fingers are working at the back of his head, and - suddenly the stocking falls off from his eyes, and Bucky is left to blink in the dim light of their living room.

“God, I love you,” he says when Steve comes back into focus, blue eyes watching him intently, and Steve grins.

“I know,” he answers, and Bucky loves Star Wars, he does, but sometimes he regrets the fact that Steve has watched it, too.

“Do I get to fuck you, now?” he asks, and Steve climbs off him, but before Bucky can do more than an involuntary offended noise, Steve is lying down on their ridiculous big sofa, and Bucky can't believe how beautiful he looks, disheveled in his white panties and one stocking and intact makeup and messy hair. He lost the shoes at some point, and Bucky catches them with the corner of his eyes, discarded on the floor.

“Ah hard as you like,” Steve answers, and Bucky crawls over him, kissing his naked thigh and the one covered is silk as well. “But, Bucky,” and Bucky looks up from his task to watch him, “make it _hard_.”

Bucky has a full body shiver at that, and goes to work, breathing hot over Steve’s hidden dick. He sucks the shaft through the lace, and Steve moans and grinds against his face.

Bucky grasps the waistband with his teeth and tugs down, until the panties are below Steve’s knees and he can kick them off. They leave the stocking on.

Steve is panting, chest rising and falling quickly - no matter what Bucky makes him eat, he always remains a thin little thing, ribs barely visible under his skin. And isn't that just better, the juxtaposition between his figure and Bucky's, big and muscled and a little round, the one on his knees, collared, in front of his beautiful partner.

He loves that all his strength serves Steve, now.

He takes Steve into his mouth without preamble, and sucks, hard. There are times when they like to take things slow, be soft with each other, teasing with tender touches and caresses, but it's obvious that's not what either of them want today. Today is all about pleasurable desperation.

Steve plants his feet on the cushion and thrust up, fast, sharp movements, and Bucky takes it, licking and sucking the best he can while Steve fucks his mouth. Steve is not big, but he's not small, either, and he fills Bucky's mouth nicely - not enough to make him choke, but to make him feel the nudge against his throat.

They keep going like that until Steve starts to get tired, slower and slower, and eventually Bucky pulls off, kissing up and down the shaft.

“Lube?” he asks, and Steve points the trail again.

Bucky finds it beside the empty plates, and fingers Steve quickly, albeit carefully. He never pushes over his limit - he knows him so well, and anyway Steve would tell him if he was about to; he knows that Bucky _can't_ hurt him - but he goes fast, and soon he's lining up to push into him.

They're both merciless, shoving their hips against the other’s ruthlessly, and Bucky knows that Steve will have little bruises on his body tomorrow and he wishes he could, too.

Steve's drags his nails down on Bucky's back, yanks his head back with a fist in his hair and bites down on his throat, and Bucky shouts when he comes, burying himself deep inside Steve, and Steve follows a few moments later by Bucky's hand, cursing against Bucky’s neck, Bucky's dick still softening inside him.

They rearrange themselves so that Bucky is not crushing Steve, who points himself on his elbows to look down at him and push his hair gently out of his face.

“You've been amazing, Buck,” he says, bowing down to kiss him. “So good.” He keeps going with praises and sweet nothings until Bucky can't deflect anymore with stupid jokes and just buries his face into Steve’s hair and lets the words take little roots in him.

“You've been pretty awesome yourself,” he mutters, and Steve honestly blushes and it's just so goddamn endearing.

“Merry Christmas,” Steve says against his lips, and then they kiss for a while and the rest of the world falls into quiet.

  
*  
**  
* *  
* * *

“Hey,” Bucky asks later, after Steve has made him drink some juice and made an half assed attempt to clean them up with a washing cloth. They're curled up in bed, in front of the fake fireplace Tony had gifted them when they first moved in - it warms the room and there are designs of flames dancing on the screen, but it doesn't involve wood or real fire and is therefore fake in Bucky's book - “What was the second thing you made me try?”

Steve smiles against his belly, where he's leaving little nips and butterfly kisses.

“Well, it _was_ blood,” he says, and Bucky stares at him. “Pig’s. It’s actually like a sausage, called black pudding.”

Bucky just sighs and catches Steve under his armpits, hauling him up on top of himself. Steve protests and punches him in the arm, but accepts Bucky's kisses with benevolence.

The lights of the Christmas tree reflect softly on their walls, bathing their home in colors.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos would satisfy my praise!kink immensely. Just sayin'. I accept criticisms as well. Also if you spot any mistake/misspelling you are required to let me know, it’s the law.
> 
> You can find this story on [tumblr](http://buckybee.tumblr.com/post/154953737114/been-an-awful-good-boy) as well!


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